TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/091691/0916000.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 14.2 KB | 284 lines

                                                                                WORLD, Page 32

SOVIET UNION

Knell of the Union?


In concert with republic leaders, Gorbachev erects a shaky new
central structure and emerges as the Great Coordinator

By JILL SMOLOWE -- Reported by James Carney/Moscow, Dan Goodgame/
Washington and William Mader/London


    After four days of pitching their hastily improvised
vision of a loosely knit union of sovereign states to wary
Soviet legislators, Mikhail Gorbachev and Boris Yeltsin tried
to sell an equally skeptical audience on the viability of their
new enterprise. In an extraordinary live broadcast orchestrated
by ABC television that linked U.S. viewers with the Kremlin's
St. George's Hall, the Soviet and Russian presidents sought to
allay American fears that there would be any backsliding toward
communism.

    "I think this experiment that was conducted on our soil
was a tragedy for our people," said Yeltsin.

    "That model has failed," concurred Gorbachev. "I believe
that this is a lesson not only for our people, but for all
peoples."

    Playing up their new partnership, the two leaders smiled
and quipped before the cameras, alternately deferring to each
other. But as they fielded American viewers' questions, the
underlying tension in their respective agendas was palpable.
While Gorbachev repeatedly stressed the need for "cooperation"
between the republics and for a new central order, Yeltsin
preferred to press the interests of his Russian state.

    What, then, to make of the legislative spectacle in Moscow
last week during which a re-energized Gorbachev delivered the
coup de grace to the mortally wounded carcass of communism?
Working in concert with Yeltsin and the leaders of nine other
republics, Gorbachev rammed through laws that both eradicated
the final traces of authoritarianism and erected a shaky central
structure to guide the republics toward confederation. After
four days of acrimonious wrangling, the Congress of People's
Deputies endorsed by a vote of 1,682 to 43 a sketchy
transitional government that establishes an executive State
Council and two subordinate bodies, a reconstructed parliament
and an Inter-Republican Economic Committee. In tandem, and
largely at the sufferance of the increasingly restless
republics, the task of these organs will be twofold: to provide
the glue that maintains some semblance of unity and to convince
the world that there is still a there in Moscow with which to
deal.

    While the overwhelming vote gave the impression of slowing
the Soviet free fall precipitated by the Aug. 19 coup, the
newly created bodies were ill defined and presented only a
stopgap solution. It was impossible to predict how much of a
counterforce they would exert against the centrifugal strains
unleashed by the Big Bang of the failed coup. As it was, the
first act of the State Council, a body made up of Gorbachev and
the top officials of 10 republics, was to grant independence to
the three Baltic republics. The move, which a mere month ago
would have dazzled the world, last week seemed belated and
inevitable, coming four days after the U.S. had extended formal
recognition to Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, and scores of
other nations had already done the same.

    At best, the transitional government can buy time as the
splintering Soviet Union struggles to enact sweeping free-market
reforms that must be centrally coordinated if the republics hope
to bring their bankrupt economies into the 20th century. The
rump authority can also try to write a new constitution and
serve to persuade an international community that progress is
being made on such crucial matters as the upholding of treaty
obligations, nuclear disarmament and economic reform. "Let me
tell you, the West is watching," Gorbachev warned the Congress
last week. "If we are able to coordinate, unite within new
forms, find new structures, the West will support us."

    But will these republics, most of them freshly sovereign
by self-proclamation, be able to unite in common cause now that
the boot of the coercive state has been lifted? Last week's
hard-won consensus left more questions than it answered. Who,
for instance, will wield the greater influence within the State
Council: Gorbachev or the republic leaders? Will there continue
to be a need for a confederative President? Or constitution?
Most important, how effectively will this new center check the
disintegration of the union, and for how long can it hold?
Voices of caution that proved prescient in the recent past
sounded new alarms. Warned former Foreign Minister Eduard
Shevardnadze: "The struggle between the democrats and the
reactionaries is not over."

    That much was in evidence early last week as members of
the highest legislative body in the land descended on Moscow
for an emergency session. In reformist corridors, there were
loud warnings of a pending "constitutional putsch" in which
conservatives would rout Gorbachev from his presidency. But in
one of those unpredictable twists that have become the
breathless stuff of which Soviet history is made, it was
Gorbachev who corralled the required two-thirds vote to consign
the Congress to oblivion -- and it was the recalcitrant
hard-liners who wound up complaining of an unconstitutional
coup.

    If Gorbachev's performance was a taste of the cracked
empire's dawning democracy, it smacked of democracy by decree.
Though the transitional plan was presented by Nursultan
Nazarbayev, the president of Kazakhstan -- a clever ploy to
underscore the new importance of the republics -- it was
Gorbachev who cowed the Deputies into submission. Alternately
shutting off microphones to silence opposition, flouting rules
and berating the Deputies like naughty schoolchildren, Gorbachev
imposed his will. On Day 4, he delivered an ultimatum. "If we
can't agree on this, the Congress ceases to work," he said,
making it clear that if all else failed, he and the republic
presidents would push through the reforms by decree.

    Meanwhile, hard-liners, threatened with the loss of their
last remaining privileges, retreated behind the threadbare
mantle of the Soviet constitution to press their demand that
reforms proceed in a "legal" manner. It was an ironic line,
coming from those who had overtly or passively backed the
plainly unconstitutional coup attempt. In the end, their support
was bought with what amounted to a bribe: the right to continue
enjoying perks such as apartments and cars until 1994, when
their terms would have expired, as well as salary payments worth
$175 a month.

    Old-fashioned conservatives were not the only ones
agitated by the high-handed manner in which Gorbachev and the
republic leaders railroaded their plan through the Congress. "We
should stop treating the constitution like a whore, adjusting
it to the lusts of any new ruler," argued Alexander Obolensky,
a gadfly Deputy with a liberal bent. But such rhetorical
arpeggios were offset by equally impressive flourishes from
democracy-minded reformers who were not about to let a creaky
constitution stand in their way. "It's not correct to say
Congress was forced to its knees," radical Deputy Ilya Zaslavsky
said, tweaking his colleagues. "This Congress was never off its
knees in the first place."

    Through it all, Gorbachev and his former political
nemesis, Yeltsin, remained in lockstep. Gorbachev signaled both
that he understood the tenuousness of his position and that he
had no intention of crossing Yeltsin or any of the other
republic leaders. "Today you have a President. Tomorrow you may
have another President," he told the Congress midway through
the session. "In any case, we are all one, side by side, and we
shouldn't spit on each other." Yeltsin, in turn, allowed that
Gorbachev had returned from his Crimea internment a changed man.
"He found within himself the courage to change his views,"
Yeltsin said. "I personally believe in Gorbachev today."

    Gorbachev apparently believed in Gorbachev too. Half
bully, half beggar, he appeared fully recovered from the lack
of political surefootedness that had attended his return from
the Crimea. Gorbachev seemed to accept the reality that the
transitional structure he had so forcefully championed severely
circumscribed his powers as the nation's chief executive. He
took easily to his self-created role as the Great Coordinator.
It was a position that no one else could fill, and one that
republic officials, perhaps overwhelmed by recent events,
yielded gratefully. Gorbachev is "the man who unites all
others," said Yuri Shcherbak, a leading Deputy from Ukraine. "In
this he plays a critical role."

    While Gorbachev's continuation at the helm now seemed
assured for some time, it was difficult to tell what drove him.
Pragmatism? Resignation? A determination to salvage what he
could of his crumbling empire? And his crumbling job? "Gorbachev
is a great believer in the precept that if you can't beat them,
join them," suggested Sir Bryan Cartledge, a former British
ambassador to Moscow. Perhaps. But no one in recent memory has
reversed course with greater resiliency and panache. As
Gorbachev intoned, "A new reality has emerged in the country,"
it was easy to forget that just three short weeks ago, he
remained under the sway of communist stalwarts.

    Yeltsin, by contrast, stepped back, ceding center stage
after two weeks in the limelight. Singed by the outcry that he
had touched off a week earlier when he precipitously threatened
to "review" Russia's borders with other republics, Yeltsin
perhaps understood intuitively that his role as leader of the
new Russian nationalism precluded him from effectively playing
the arbiter's role. To allay fears that Gorbachev might be
acting as his front man for a resurgent Russia, Yeltsin promised
that his gargantuan republic would not dominate any
confederative structure. "The Russian state, which has chosen
democracy and freedom, will never be an empire, neither a
younger nor an elder brother," he said. "It will be an equal
among equals."

    It was a message aimed not only at fellow Deputies but
also abroad, particularly at the Oval Office. The avalanche of
decrees that Yeltsin issued in the immediate wake of the putsch,
coupled with his initial high-handed treatment of Gorbachev, did
much to undermine the goodwill and trust that Yeltsin had built
with the Bush Administration during the heady three days of the
coup. Wariness prevailed last week. "The man clearly has courage
and political talent," said a White House insider. "But he's
also clearly a demagogue and an opportunist, and we'd be fools
if we didn't worry about those tendencies."

    Last week the Bush Administration seemed confident enough
of Gorbachev's continued stewardship not only to accord
recognition to the Baltics but also to set forth "five
principles" that would govern the U.S. response to the rapidly
shifting situation in the Soviet Union. Tipping its preference
for a clearly delineated central authority that could oversee
inter- and intra-republic conflicts, the Administration
emphasized the need for orderly and peaceful change, safeguards
to ensure the rights of ethnic minorities, and respect for
international obligations.

    There were hints that the U.S. Administration might soon
venture further. Just hours after the Soviet legislature
concluded its business, President Bush summoned his top advisers
for a secret meeting. Discussion centered on concern that now
that the Soviets had cobbled together a working relationship
between the center and the republics, the Administration would
no longer be able to drag its feet on economic and defense
policy questions. Secretary of State James Baker argued
forcefully, as he had at a Cabinet meeting the previous day, for
a more aggressive program of economic aid that would go beyond
immediate humanitarian measures. "Nationalism can turn to
fascism," he warned the Cabinet. "If they move to fascism, or
slip back to communism, we will get the blame."

    While the demonstration of cohesion in Moscow dominated
Washington's field of vision, there was ample restiveness in the
republics to stir concern. Most alarming was the violence
unleashed in Georgia when the republic's dictatorial president
responded to mounting calls for his resignation by ordering a
police crackdown. In the ensuing mayhem, at least five
demonstrators and 21 police were wounded. Moldavia's Dniester
region, populated largely by Ukrainians and Russians, declared
its independence from the republic, which is moving to distance
itself from Moscow and renew ties with neighboring Romania. To
the west, in Chechen-Ingush, an autonomous republic of the
Russian Federation, pro-democracy forces surrounded the
parliament building and demanded that the government resign. In
response, Soviet television reported, the region's president
declared a state of emergency.

    Even the Baltic republic of Lithuania gave cause for
concern. Since early this year, the new government has
exonerated at least 1,000 Lithuanians convicted by Soviet courts
for allegedly collaborating with the Nazis. Although the
republic denied that it had knowingly rehabilitated anyone
guilty of genocide, the action provoked protests from Jewish
organizations in the U.S. and Israel. It also left the Bush
Administration in the uncomfortable position of warning against
extrajudicial exonerations at the very moment Washington was
renewing diplomatic ties with Vilnius.

    Given the welter of events, the only certainty was that
the various republics will improvise as they go, pushing the
boundaries of their independence to see where the points of
resistance may lie. The same can be expected of the freshly
manufactured central structure, as it sorts out which republics
will fully join in a new confederation and which will opt for
either associate or observer status. Optimists predicted that
having broken apart, the republics will fast recognize their
joint interests. But if the new State Council unravels or is
paralyzed by disagreement, the attempt to restore some coherence
will be short-lived -- and a disillusioned populace may find new
merit in the predictable positions of the old hard-line.